by Mary Balogh
Christina hid her smile against her mother’s skirt.
When they were outside, he handed Elizabeth up to the high seat of the curricle and turned to his daughter. “You have a choice, Christina,” he said. “Either you can ride between your mama and me like a proper lady, or you can sit between my knees like a famous whip and help guide the horses. Which is it to be?”
But it was too early in the outing and she was separated from her mother by several feet. “I want to sit by Mama,” she whispered.
He clasped her about her tiny waist and lifted her up to Elizabeth’s waiting arms. She was snuggled close against her mother when he climbed into his own seat. He smiled and hid his disappointment.
But the excitement of riding in an open carriage so far above the ground soon overcame shyness. And the fear of falling. Christina was soon gripping his sleeve as well as her mother’s and exclaiming about everything she could see. As they turned into the park, she leaned toward Elizabeth.
“Can I sit there?” she whispered, pointing to his lap.
“Lord Trevelyan needs to concentrate,” Elizabeth said.
“She may sit here,” Christopher said. “I will need some help now that we will be among more traffic.” He lifted his daughter to sit between his legs, holding her steady with his thighs, letting her small hands clutch the ribbons above his.
She giggled with delight. “Look at me!” she said, and she tipped her head sideways and back to look up at him with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks—Nancy as she had used to look when they had played on the beach.
He almost despised himself for the happiness of the next half hour. It was late in the afternoon of a beautiful spring day during the Season, and they were in the place where the whole fashionable world congregated daily to see and to be seen, though the excuse was fresh air and exercise. The vast majority of people who drove or rode or strolled there that afternoon would know that Elizabeth was once his wife and that Christina was his daughter. Those who did not know would do so before they left the park.
He smiled and talked with Christina, nodded to acquaintances, exchanged pleasantries with some, and felt full to bursting with triumph and happiness. Only one thing marred his joy. Elizabeth sat rigidly and silently at his side. After half an hour he drove to a quieter part of the park. Christina had climbed onto his lap and relinquished her hold on the ribbons.
“I am going to tell Uncle John that I am a famous whip,” she said, looking up into Christopher’s face.
“Not Uncle Martin and Grandpapa?” Elizabeth asked.
“Them too,” Christina said. "Uncle John rides a horse to war. I love horses.”
“Then you would enjoy the horse shows at Astley’s Amphitheater,” Christopher said. He heard Elizabeth beside him draw breath.
“Uncle John is going to take me there one day,” Christina said. “Lord Poole won’t take me. He is too busy.”
“He would if he had time, sweetheart,” Elizabeth said. “He is an extremely busy and important man.”
“How about tomorrow?” Christopher asked. “Shall I take you and Mama there tomorrow? And then when Uncle John takes you, you will be able to tell him what is coming next.”
Elizabeth was silent.
“Tomorrow?” Christina was staring at him saucer-eyed. “Aren’t you busy?”
“I have all the time in the world for you, Christina,” he said.
“Do you like me?” She sounded surprised. “Not just Mama? Uncle John likes me.”
“I like you very much indeed,” he said. “Quite as much as I like your mama.”
“Oh,” she said, and she sounded pleased. “I am not going to tell Uncle John that I am going to Astley’s Amphitheater tomorrow. Then when he takes me, I can surprise him by knowing all about it.” She giggled.
“In three days’ time,” he said, “there is going to be a grand show in London. The Prince Regent has invited important guests from all over Europe to come and visit him and celebrate the victory that Uncle John helped win. They are going to be arriving all together from Dover. The streets are going to be packed with cheering people out to greet them. Shall we be among them?”
“Ye-e-es,” Christina said. “Grandpapa said I could not go. He said it would be unseemly. May we, Mama? Oh, please!” She bounced on his lap in an agony of suspense.
Elizabeth looked coolly at him. “Why not?” she said. “It will be a day to be remembered in history. You should be there, Christina.”
His daughter relaxed against him, comfortable and happy and no longer even a little shy with him. She began to tell him about the puppies in the stables at Kingston, and prattled all the way home. Elizabeth tried to hush her when they were back in the busy street traffic, but he set a hand on her wrist and shook his head.
“Don’t stop her,” he said. “I want to hear all she has to tell me. Everything that has happened in her life.”
Elizabeth turned her head sharply away.
When they returned to Grosvenor Square, he lifted Christina to the ground first and she darted into the house, intent on finding someone interested in the fact that she had become a famous whip. He lifted Elizabeth down, holding her deliberately close to his own body. A selfish indulgence, he thought when he saw the unhappiness on her face.
“She is delightful,” he said. “You surely cannot want to deprive me of her any longer, Elizabeth. I don’t believe you do. Do you?”
She looked directly at him but did not answer.
“Are you going to the Clemens’ ball tomorrow evening?” he asked.
She nodded. “With Manley,” she said. “Please, Christopher, be content with the afternoons. Stay away from me there.”
“I want the supper dance,” he said. “Save it for me?”
She shook her head. “You do not understand, do you?” she said. “He is going to be my husband.”
“The supper dance,” he said. “You see? I ask for only one.”
“And you will not take no for an answer, will you?” she said.
He shook his head and wondered if what he was doing amounted to harassment. Undoubtedly it did. And yet she did not have to endure it. A firm no would suffice. She could draw on her not inconsiderable arsenal of male protectors to warn him off and even do more than warn. He was being persistent, but he was not using force.
“The supper dance, then,” she said and turned and fled up the shallow steps to the doorway, almost colliding with Martin as she did so. She did not stop to talk to him but hurried on by.
Chapter 21
MARTIN was in a buoyant mood. Or perhaps that was not quite an accurate description of his feelings since he knew that he was going to cause Elizabeth pain and humiliation. And he had never ever wanted to cause her pain. Quite the opposite. He wanted to bring peace and contentment into her life. But she had grown stubborn and she must be made to see that there was only one road to happiness. And only one person to walk that road with her.
His mood was at least partly buoyant because he had finally worked out a definite plan. From the moment of his return to London he had rejected the simple and seemingly attractive plan of divulging his knowledge of the kidnapping. Both his father and Poole would have reacted with fury, and undoubtedly the betrothal would have come to an end. But Martin was not convinced that such an outcome would send Elizabeth back to Kingston. She had developed an alarming strength and independence of character in the past few years.
Something far more drastic was needed.
And finally—finally!—he had it all worked out. He knew how he would get Elizabeth to flee, never to return, and he knew how he would nip in the bud her renewed attraction to Trevelyan.
Hence his buoyant mood.
He had been at a front window awaiting their return from the drive in the park. He walked unhurriedly down the stairs when he saw the curricle approach. The damn fool had bought a new curricle merely because Christina had wanted to ride in one. And he must have wormed his way into her affections too. The brat was sit
ting on his lap.
Christina ran past him in the hall. He smiled at her. “So,” he said, “what do you have to tell Uncle Martin about your drive?”
But she ran on past him. “I am going to tell Uncle John,” she called over her shoulder.
Martin compressed his lips. His hands often itched to give the child a good spanking to teach her better manners. But Lizzie would not like it. She doted on Christina. He strolled outside onto the steps and almost collided with Elizabeth, who ran on past, not looking any too happy. Martin shrugged and raised his eyebrows to Christopher.
“She is proving difficult to please?” he asked. “Have patience with her, Trevelyan. She has had Christina all to herself for six years. She is finding it difficult to share. Fond uncles are not such a threat, you see.”
Christopher nodded curtly and looked at him keenly. He was in a bad mood, Martin thought. Things were not going well.
“I hope Lizzie has not refused to let you see Christina again,” Martin said. “I’ll have a word with her. She is a little hysterical these days. But I pride myself on thinking that I usually have a calming influence on her. And she should be made to see reason on this. You are understandably fond of your daughter.”
“Yes,” Christopher said, “I am. But you know all, Martin. Why is it you are willing to help me when you have it in your power to do just the opposite?”
Martin shrugged and smiled. “You know me,” he said. “Always more heart than head. And I can’t help liking you, Trevelyan, and feeling rather uneasy over the fact that I believed all those things about you once you had gone away. I should have investigated the charges more closely, I suppose, before passing judgment. But it is too late now, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Christopher said. “Too late. And I daresay whoever hated me so much was careful enough not to leave any trail anyway.”
Martin shook his head. “That is the part I have most difficulty with,” he said. “Who would have hated you that much? Anyway, I want to make amends if I can. You want Lizzie back, don’t you?”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
“I can see it,” Martin said, “even if do not want to admit it. But there is something about Lizzie, Trevelyan, that I know perhaps better than you. She likes to have her hand forced. If she has to make decisions for herself, she is likely to be stubborn. If she is forced, she will follow her heart. I think that was proved at Penhallow, wasn’t it?”
“At Penhallow,” Christopher said, “she had lost her memory.”
“Of course,” Martin said. “But would she have accepted just any man who had said he was her husband at that time? I think not. I think her heart remembered even if her brain did not.”
Christopher said nothing.
“Kidnapping was the best thing for her," Martin said. “I never thought this idea of marrying Poole was right for her.”
“No,” Christopher said, “I don’t suppose you did. You think I should kidnap her again, Martin?”
Martin considered. “I think not,” he said. “She would probably not stand for it again. You have to stay firm over Christina, I think. You have to convince her that you will never let your daughter go.”
Christopher raised his eyebrows. “Even to the extent of kidnapping her, perhaps?”
Martin thought again. “That is a little extreme, I must admit,” he said. “I had not thought of it. But it might just work, by Jove. Elizabeth would follow in a vast hurry if you had Christina. But of course.” He flashed a boyish grin. “It is a foolish idea, isn’t it? Crazy. We’ll think of something else.”
“Perhaps not so crazy,” Christopher said, swinging himself back up into the high seat of his curricle. “Thank you, Martin. You are a true friend.”
Martin laughed nervously. “You are not seriously considering it, are you?” he asked. “We will have to talk further. I’ll have to talk you out of it. I will have guilt pangs tonight for even considering it as a joke.”
Christopher touched his hat. “Don’t lose any sleep over it,” he said, turning his horses’ heads and pulling out into the square.
Martin watched him go. Trevelyan thought himself so much the man of the world now that he had spent years in America and had made himself a successful businessman there. He was the veriest babe when it came to being manipulated.
Trevelyan was not going to succeed with Lizzie again, Martin thought, gazing after the departing curricle with hatred naked in his eyes. She was his now and always would be. He would see to that, and she would eventually know that only with him could she be happy. As they always had been happy before Trevelyan came into her life seven years before.
Christina was wildly excited. Elizabeth had not seen her daughter more animated. Everything at the horse show had to be gasped over and exclaimed upon—ponies prancing in a circle; horses jumping through hoops and over barrels; ladies standing on the backs of trotting horses and holding their arms out to the sides. There was a seemingly endless stream of entertainment to be wondered at.
Most of the child’s comments and exclamations were directed at Christopher. Perhaps it was that she herself could not show outward enthusiasm, Elizabeth thought, though she loved seeing her daughter so happy. Before the show was half over, Christina was on Christopher’s lap, the better to see what was happening, though her view had been quite unobstructed from her seat.
“I like that gentleman, Mama," she had said when they were getting ready for the afternoon’s outing. Christopher was never “Lord Trevelyan.” He was always “that gentleman.”
“Do you, sweetheart?” Elizabeth had asked, tying the ribbons of her daughter’s bonnet and looking into her face to note again how much like her father she was.
“He likes me,” Christina had said simply and happily. Elizabeth had felt like crying.
There had been none of the shyness of the previous day when Christopher’s carriage had come for them and he had handed them inside.
“I didn’t tell Uncle John,” Christina had announced, her voice excited. “But I wanted to. I nearly burst.”
“Did you?” he had said, looking amused. Christopher always lost his habitual harsh expression when he was looking at or talking with Christina. “That must have been painful. I’m glad you didn’t.”
Elizabeth had remained silent during most of the journey and after their arrival at Astley’s Amphitheater, despite the fact that she had never been there before and found it all very fascinating. Or would have done, perhaps, if she had not had so much weighing on her mind.
She was tired again but pushed the thought from her mind as if by doing so she could also push away her awareness of why she was so often tired these days. She had known for a while but had not admitted her knowledge until the night before. She had been trying hard to think of a reasonable explanation for the very obvious symptoms.
She longed for someone in whom to confide. But she had no women relatives and no woman friend close enough for such a confidence. Martin had always been her closest friend and instinct had led her to him the evening before. He had been getting ready to go out, late as the hour was, and had looked rather startled when his valet had admitted her to his dressing room.
“Where can you be going at this hour?” she had asked.
“To a friend’s.” He had turned to smile at her. “He needs some advice on love, which I am not at all qualified to give, of course. Mostly he needs a sympathetic ear, poor fellow.”
“Ah.” She had smiled back. Martin was an expert at that. She had felt guilty for having been just a little impatient with his protectiveness lately. He was always so selfless in his concern for others, especially her.
“Are you in need of one, Lizzie?” he had asked. “A sympathetic ear, that is?” He nodded to his valet and the man left the room.
But looking into his face, the smiling, kindly face of her adopted twin, she had been unable to blurt the words she was longing to say and had come to say—I am pregnant. For perhaps the first time, not cou
nting the time when she had lost her memory, she had hesitated to talk to him as freely as she would talk to the other half of herself.
“It is Trevelyan, Lizzie?” he had asked gently, setting an arm about her shoulders and drawing her to sit beside him on a small sofa. “He is causing turmoil in your life again? I have always liked him, as you know, and still do, but I cannot help feeling somewhat uneasy.”
“Uneasy?”
“He really has taken to Christina, hasn’t he?” he had said. “I spoke to him briefly after you returned from the park this afternoon. He seems almost obsessed with her.”
“I suppose it is natural,” she had said. “I think I was wrong to agree to have her existence kept from him, Martin. I blame myself. I should have insisted on doing what I knew to be right. He really loves her, I think.”
“I just hope,” he had said, “that he does not—” But he shook his head and got to his feet. “Nothing. I had better be going or Blakeney will think I have forgotten him.”
“That he does not what?” Elizabeth had asked.
Martin had laughed. “No, he would not,” he had said. “Sometimes one gets stupidly fanciful at close to midnight. He would not try to take her for himself for six years to make up for the six she has been with you. That is a nonsensical idea. Trevelyan is quite incapable of kidnapping, isn’t he?” He had winced then and turned away from her. “Forget I said that, Lizzie. Is everything going well with Poole?”
Of course she would forget what he had said. It really was nonsense. Christopher did not want Christina alone. He wanted both of them. She opened her mouth to tell Martin that Christopher had asked her to marry him, but shut it again. Something had happened. She could not seem to share her deepest self with him any longer. Perhaps she had taken the final step to growing up, she thought a little sadly.
“Well enough,” she had said.
“It is with him you really belong, you know, Lizzie,” Martin had said, looking at her again, his head to one side. “He can keep the turmoil from your life. And you can be very important to him, especially during the next few weeks.”
